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FIRESIDE HYMNS. 



FIRESIDE HYMNS. 



BY 



ALFRED SERENO HUDSON, 




AVER, MASS: 

PRINTED BY WM. M. SARGENT. 

1888. 



^-> 






COPYRIGHT 1888, 

BY 

ALFRED S. HUDSON. 



TO THE 

FRIENDS OF MY FIRESIDE. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 
Eventide, ......... 7 

The Olden Times, . '. . . . . .9 

Immortality, . . " . . . . . . 12 

Watching and Waiting, . . . . . . 13 

Going for the Cows, . . . . . . • ^5 

The Broken Household, . . . , . .18 

A Day at "Nobscot," 2Q 

Mystery, ......... 2|| 

The Autumn Evening, ...... 26 

The Christian Household, ...... 39 

Sabbath Evening, ....... 28 

The Back Log, . . . . . . . .29 

In Memoriam, . .■ ' . . . . . .31 

Duck Hunting on Sudbury Meadows, ... 34 

The Best Room, . ' . . . . . . 38 

Sabbath Vespers, . ' . . . . . . 39 

Youthful Days, .'....... 40 

The Old Clock, ....... 41 



Contents. 

Page. 
Hidden Gems, ........ 42 

Wild Geese, ........ 43 

The Village Burying Ground, ..... 44 

The Call of the Blue Jay, . . . . . -45 

Going to Bed, ........ 46 

Sometime, ........ 47 

Heaven, ......... 48 

Resignation, ........ 50 

The Righteous Dead, . . . . . . 51 

No, Not Forgotton, ....... 53 

Bereavement, ........ 54 

Growing Old, . . . . ... . •5'^ 

The Stormy Day, ....... 5( 

Churning, ......... 57 

The Tvi^o Paths, 59 



FIRESIDE HYMNS. 



EVENTIDE. 



When slowly sinks the setting sun, 
And soft its radiance melts away, 

Ere darkness sits upon the throne. 
And holds supreme its dusky sway. 

Then moments come of mellow light, 
Of hallowed, peaceful, sacred calm, 

With influence pure, and blest, and bright 
As hymnal sv/eet, or soothing psalm. 

'Tis then the soul in holy thought 

Goes out to hours and scenes gone by. 

And in communion sweet is brought 
With memories, that are slow to die. 

As twilight's deepening shadows glow. 
The echoes of far distant years 

Are heard, as voices soft and low. 
Breathed gently to our listening ears. 



Eventide. 

The absent ones, those gone before 
In fond remembrance come to mind ; 

That which we cherish or deplore, 
In that still hour we yet may find. 

And vet there lingers o'er our heads 

A strengthening infiuence, sweet and blest. 

That benediction like imparts 
A blessing, ere we sink to rest. 

Ma}' we so live that when at length 
Life's twilight hour to us shall come, 

Sweet peace and blessedness and strength 
May fit us for our spirit home. 



THE OLDEN TIMES. 



I. 

What have the vears in their flight left behind? 
Ah, many a treasure we now seldom find ! 
Though we search for them long, and with diligent care, 
There were joys in the past now exceedingly rare ; 
The fire-place no longer burns bright as of yore, 
Sending out its bright beams on the old kitchen floor. 
With its back log all glowing as snugly it lay 
Against the huge chimney, mid warm ashes gray, 
The ancient brick oven is closed from our gaze, 
Where were baked the brown loaves of rich, golden maize, 
And the beans, and "pan dowdy," and nice pumpkin pie 
That so suited our taste and delighted our eye. 
They are gone, nearly gone. 

With the years that are fled. 
They lived in the past. 

But are now almost dead. 



The Olden Titnes. 

ir. 

What have the years in then- flight left behind? 

Ah, many a treasure we now seldom find ! 

The "beaufet" that once so smilingly stood 

With its three-cornered shelves of unpainted wood ; 

The quaint pewter platters, substantial and bright ; 

The candle of tallow, so smooth and so white ; 

The hard oaken floor, that was scoured with such care ; 

The garret, a storehouse of relics most rare ; 

The old-fashioned clock with its bell note so clear. 

And whose pendulum tick we could easily hear. 

Thev are gone, nearlv gone, 
With the years that are fted, 

They lived in the past. 
But are now almost dead. 



III. 

What have the years in their flight left behind? 

Ah, many a treasvire we now seldom find ! 

The plain simple dress, and the old-fiishioned ways, 

The "raisings," the "huskings" of those early days 

The "apple bees," "training days," breaking out roads. 

The turnpikes, the toll gates, the stages, the loads 

Of rich country produce that was carried to town 

By the farmer, whose custom it was to "go down," 

The old fashioned winters, the mild early spring. 

With snowdrifts and sunbeams, which these used to bri no- 



lo 



The Olden Tunes. 

They are gone, nearly gone 

With the years that are fled, 
They Hved in the past, 

But are now ahnost dead. 

IV. 

Wliat have the years in their flight left behind? 
Ah, many a treasure we now seldom find ! 
The old district school with its three months a year, 
And little red school house with benches so queer, 
Where to cipher, to read, to parse, and to write. 
Were deemed wholy sufficient to educate quite ; 
The singing school also has passed out of date, 
And the fugue tune and fiddle have shared the same fate, 
As these were made use of in country church choir 
Or on special occasions, by the sitting room fire. 
They are gone, nearly gone. 

With the years that are fled, 
They lived in the past. 

But are now almost dead. 

V. 

Thus have the years in their flight left behind 
The old fashioned things that are now hard to find ; 
We may search for them long and with diligent care, 
And if we find them at all, 'tis exceedingly rare ; 
But thanks to kind Providence, blessings quite new 
Have sprung up about us, which if we should review, 

T I 



The Olden Titnes. 

Would take up more space than to these here belong, 
So before we begin, we will finish our song, 
And declare that the past we would not revive, 
Nor exchansfe its dead treasures for those now alive. 



IMMORTALITY. 



The tree its leafy covering casts 

Upon the chilling autumn blasts, 

And wintry snows on grass and grain 

Lie heavv ere spring comes again ; 

Yet life goes on, though tree and herb 

The frost's cold fingers thus disturb ; 

And spring's warm breeze and genial showers 

Will bring once more the leaves and flowers. 

So mortal man may droop and die. 

And tree like lay his garments by. 

And on his turf grown grave may rise 

The wintry drift, that long there lies; 

Yet upward has the spirit sped. 

It has but flown, it is not dead ; 

And better garments, brighter bloom 

Are his, beyond earth's wintry gloom. 



WATCHING AND WAITING. 



Along the Adriatic's strand, 

The fisher leaves the shore at morn, 
And far away from home and land, 

Through all the day in toil is gone. 

As evening shadows dusky creep, 
And starlit night approaches near. 

The fisher wives draw near the beach 
To welcome back their husbands dear, 

And if perchance the hour is late. 
The}' stand expectant on the shore, 

And sing a song as there they wait, 
That sounds above the breakers' roar. 

The murmuring music gently goes 
Far out upon the v/aters drear, 

The loved one listens as he rows, 
The dear, familiar voice to hear. 



13 



Watching and Wai'tmg-. 

Soon borne upon the blast there come 
That well known melody and voice, 

That say the \vanderer nears his home, 
And soon with fond ones will rejoice. 

So souls that on the sea of life 

Go out at morn, antl through the day 

Engage in toil, and storm, and strife. 
And seek at eve the quiet bay. 

May comfort take, that when at length 
The weary voyage is almost o'er. 

And faint the heart and small the strength, 
To bring them to the shining shore. 

A Heavenly friend, they then may hear 
With words of holy comfort blest, 

Assuring them that they draw near 
A place of jDcace, a home of rest. 



H 



GOING FOR TflE COWS. 



When hill and forest cast their lengthened shades, 

And setting day in golden radiance fades, 

Then come the distant echoes soft and low. 

Oft heard in childhood, Co ! Co ! Co ! 

As come the words, we follow on in thought. 

Until we to the pasture bars are brought ; 

There we behold the merry whistling boy. 

With bare brown feet, and heart brimful of jov. 

We pause and wait, as at the bars he stops, 

And calls the cattle ere the bars he drops. 

The Co ! Co ! Co ! again sounds long and clear. 

Until the farthest of the herd draws near. 

Then cracks he loud his whip of leathern string, 

And shouts in tones that make the woodland ring ; 

But scarcely has the Journev home begun, 

Before the youthful drover seeks for fun. 

A berry bush beside the road is passed, 

And on it quickly his keen eyes are cast. 

Beside it busily he makes a stay. 

Until he takes the ripened fruit a\yav. 

Next he ascends a tree to search a nest 

Where several little fledgelings snugly rest. 

Soon he draws near a stream, and up he rolls 

The bottom of his pants, and in he strolls ; 

With hat of straw that serves a ready dish. 



Goi)ig Jor tJie Cozes. 

He scoops an easv prev, the little fish. 

The bridge is reached, and there he stops to see 

How large a pickerel in sight mav be. 

Soon comes he to the pool \vhere sit the frogs 

On mudd}' margin, or on rocks or logs, 

These he attends to with a stick or stone, 

That rashly from his hand is qnickly thrown. 

A woodchuck's hole in clover field is sought, 

To see if yet the animal is caught. 

He next at schoolmate''s leisurely holds up, 

To see his bantams, or his setter pup ; 

And soon a serpent crawls across his path. 

Exciting much the little urchin's wrath ; 

Qiiickly the stones are showered in bush or brake 

To cripple if he can the venturous snake. 

Then on he goes past apple orchard near. 

Where hang the "side hills" to his taste so dear; 

These cared for he again plods on, 

Until a rustling comes from bush beyond ; 

Within the brush-wood thick he stops to see 

What such strange noise in such a j^lace might be. 

This new, important task concluded, now 

He looks about in search.of hindmost cow ; 

But none are seen, for all are gone 

Through broken rail in search of neighbor's corn. 

A voice is heard, that starts the loitering youth. 

And flashes full the disagreeable truth. 

That through his negligence the raid was made, 

i6 



Going for the Cozvs. 

And therefore on his back may stripes be laid. 

Anew in roadway he reforms the Hne, 

And starts again for home his herd of kine ; 

But soon a schoohnate met, he stops to trade 

A leathern string for popgun he last made. 

The bargain ended, off the traders go 

The new made trade, the other boys to show. 

But now the setting sun is sinking flist. 

The lengthened shadows dark around are cast ; 

The waiting farmer leans on barn yard gate, 

And wonders why it is the cows are late ; 

But lo ! they come, the late boy at their heels, 

While flush of conscious guilt he plainly feels, 

"What made you late?" the wondering farmer cries, 

As lurking guilt about the boy he spies. 

The urchin cries, to stop the rising wrath, 

"■They sometimes stopped to feed along the path." 

"Stopped, did they?" "Yes." "Who let them stop but you: 

Such negligence as this you yet will rue ; 

Go get the milk pails, feed the horse, quick ! start ! 

For mischief such as this, you yet shall smart. 

And when j'ou've done the chores, then go to bed. 

Stop ! not a word ! a plenty has been said." 

A moment now and all the wrath is past, 

Tho' late the cows, the anger did not last. 

The murmuring stream of milk into the pail 

Was soothinsf as the note of nig-htingale. 



^7 



Gohig for the Cows. 

The cows slow chew the cud of stolen corn, 
And all is peaceful till the coming morn, 
When bright and early starts the train again, 
To pass once more along the pasture lane, 
And feed till evening, when the boy will go. 
And shout once more, Co ! Co ! Co ! Co ! Co ! Co ! 



THE BROKEN HOUSEHOLD. 



They are gone, the scenes of those distant days, 
With life's merry morning they soon sped by ; 

Yet thev linger in memory as sunset rays 
Are reflected in beauty on evening sky. 

The home that once sheltered that household band, 
Was long since demolished from roof to sill. 

Not a hearthstone escaped the destroying hand, 
The site of the homestead to point out still. 

And they too are scattered who once drew near 
The fireside, as evening its mantle spread ; 

The circle is broken, the loved and dear 
Have joined the ranks of the silent dead. 

i8 



The Brokoi Ho/tsc//o/d. 

The first, a fond mother passed over the tide, 

And we wept at the sound of the boatman's oar, 

As it wafted her out on the river wide. 

And w^e knew w^e should kiss her pale lips no more. 

Another was summoned, a father dear, 

Who had lovingly cared for that household band, 

And our souls were sad as again drew near 
The boat, that would take him to far off-land. 

A brother vvas next to pass from our sight, 
And narrow the circle more and more. 

And again came the shadows of sorrow's night, 
As he too embarked for the golden shore. 

Thus one by one they have broken away, 
The fond, loved links of that golden chain, 

And been taken to realms of endless day, 
Until onlv two in this life remain. 

]^ut somehow we feel that that household dear 
In another home will sometime be found. 

Where the boatman's oar we no more shall hear. 
And friendship unbroken will there abound. 

vSo waiting, we sometimes sit and think 
Of what we have seen, and yet may see. 

And trust, that when gathered beyond life's brink, 
We a happy household once more shall be. 



19 



A DAY AT -XOBSCOT." 



(A high hill in Sudbury, Mass., not far from the fames "Wayside Inn. 

While 3'et the dew drops of the sparkhng morn 
Are glittering brightly on the grass and corn, 
Then start the merr}- youth for "Nobscot Hill," 
With huckle-berries sweet their pails to fill. 
The way tho' long they little think about, 
But make the woodland ring with mirthful shout. 
At times by spreading tree a halt is made, 
When rest is taken in the cooling shade ; 
Then up they start, and tramp along again. 
Till soon they leave the highway on the plain. 
And upward climb the steep and rugged hill. 
With sprightl}' step and animation still. 
A-while they climb, but soon the ascent is made. 
And on the grass each weary form is laid. 
A little laugh and talk, and then at length 
Come back anew their courage and their strength. 
Now for the berries beautiful and black, 
Of which around there surely is no lack. 
The hillside teems with berry bushes low. 
On which rich clusters of the ripe fruit grow. 
The pickers, tireless, seize the tempting prize. 
Which in such rich profusion round them lies. 
So toil they on till dinner time draws near. 
When pause they, and to shady place repair 



20 



A Day at ''Nobscotr 

Beneath a tree with leafy hranches spread, 

Which screens them from the noontide sun o'erhead, 

And take the store of lunch, and sit and share 

The luxury of plain and home-made fare. 

One from the company goes forth to bring 

A cooling draught from yonder sparkling spring, 

And all outstretched upon the grass repose. 

And laugh and talk, as swift the "nooning" goes. 

The noon hour past, once more the pickers start. 

With strengthened limbs and still courageous heart. 

To finish up the task that's yet undone, 

Before they take the time for further fun. 

Nimbly their fingers fly, and soon one hails, 

" Ho boys ! I've got mine full, how 'bout your pails?" 

The dearest object of the berry band 

He singles out, to lend a helping hand ; 

And soon another fills his basket cjuite. 

And by his work another's work makes light. 

Thus toil they on with perseverance, till 

Each picker does his berry basket fill, 

And all rejoice at work so early done. 

Since now their sport may early be begun. 

"Lets go to top of Nobscot !" one cries out, 

With merry laughing ring about his shout. 

Then all fall in, and without thought of stop, 

They soon are on the very "tip most top." 

Now lo ! what scenery stretches fiir and wide, 



A Day at '' A^obscot y 

Extending mile on mile on every side. 

A score of villages, reposing lie 

In restful beanty to the admiring eye, 

A hundred smiling hamlets snugly stand, 

T^ike bright spots dotted thick on either hand. 

Far to the east the gilded state house dome 

Is seen, as thither-ward the eves may roam. 

Beyond South Sudbury, stands old Goodman's hill, 

Where Karto lived, who owned the town until 

The English purchased from him five miles square, 

And paid ten pounds, a bargain somewhat rare. 

This side, close at the foot of Green Hill, lies 

The cemetery, where is seen to rise 

The monument, that marks brave Wadsworth's grave, 

Who gave his life his countrymen to save 

In Philip's war, when he with comrades stout 

Marched into vSudbury, and were hemmed about 

By hundreds of the wild, ferocious foe. 

With whom they fought until bv them laid low. 

A mile from Nobscot, and quite near the road. 

Once stood the garrison where Brown abode. 

Its brick lined walls well served a safe retreat 

From savage foe, with swift pursuing feet. 

A little nearer, on a shelf of land, 

A Small Pox Hospital was known to stand ; 

The graves of victims there lie side by side, 

Who of the dread scourge in the old time died. 

Beyond the gentle slope of northern brow. 



22 



A Day at ''Nohscoty 

Brave General Nixon's form may be seen now ; 

From there he went at early morn with speed 

His company of minute men to lead 

To Concord fight, and there the British show 

That Sudbury troops were no inferior foe. 

Beyond this spot, a half a mile or less, 

As we should judge upon a Yankee guess, 

Beside the county road, stands snug and low. 

The Old How Tavern, "Wayside Inn" called now. 

There stands the mansion, so set forth in rhyme. 

But the "Red Horse Tavern" of the olden time. 

Where stopped the traveller, and team, and stage. 

That now are relics of a former age. 

Here was the Landlord, jocund in his talk, 

Stately in form and dignified in walk. 

Squire Lyman, whom we saw at district school, 

Who led the old church choir, and sung by rule ; 

The same who rode in quaint, old-fashioned chaise, 

A sight familiar in our childhood days. 

Thus objects rare, in beauty are displayed, 

As far and near, the country is arraved 

With forest green, and gay as at the time 

When nature's objects, all are in their prime. 

But now the sound of those far distant bells. 

The passing hour, by their sweet music tells. 

And see, the sinking sun is getting low. 

And longer bv the woods the shadows grow ; 



23 



A Day at ''Nobscotr 

And hark ! the mutterings in the distant west 
From clouds that on the far horizon rest, 
Betoken plainly, that a storm may come, 
Before the berry pickers reach their home. 
The party start to make a quick descent, 
And all on making haste are now intent ; 
The stronger help the weak, the fast the slow, 
And thus in close rank, down the hill they go. 
But stop ! on blackberry vine one makes a trip ! , 
And down he goes, and out his berries tip. 
Then all hold up, and lend their friendly aid. 
And soon again, brim full the pail is made. 
Again they start, and fast they onward speed. 
For to make haste, they more and more have need. 
The dark cloud rises high and higher still. 
Ere yet they are a half mile from the hill. 
Bnt perseverance yet may win the day. 
And so the little party trudge away. 
At length they reach the highway on the plain. 
And yet there comes no pattering sound of rain. 
The bridge is passed, South Sudbury now is near. 
And far to westward, now the rain they hear. 
Loud roars the thunder, quick the lightnings flash, 
As in the snug house, swift the party dash. 
All now are safe, they dread the storm no more, 
But sit and hear the deafening tempest roar, 
While bowl of bread and milk and berries sweet 
They eat, and talk, and rest their little feet, 



24 



A Day at ''Nobscot:'' 

Till all the story told, by mother led, 
The train starts off, and soon is snug in bed ; 
Where lulled by patter of the summer rain, 
Thev sleep and dream of berrying again. 



MYSTERY 



Breaking sadly on the sea sand, 

Comes the moaning wave from far, 

Bearing sometimes on its bosom 
Piece of wreck o** broken spar. 

Whence it came, or what its story. 
What it means, or how 'twas sent, 

How long tossed on ocean hoary, 
In strange mystery all are blent. 

But we know it means a something, 
Tells it of some distant land. 

Whence has sailed a ship in beauty, 
Fashioned by a master hand. 

Fragment of it, though it may be. 
Long in clustering seeweed draped. 

Scarred and worn by many a tempest, 
Yet 'twas once in wisdom shaped. 



25 



Mystery. 

So when by life's heaving ocean, 
Hopes and aspirations grand 

Come cast up as gems most precious, 
Sent direct by heaven's own hand. 

Tell they truly, that the Author 

Of our being here below, 
Formed us in his image, perfect. 

Him to love and him to know ; 

And that in the drifting surges 
Of the seething tide of sin, 

We have almost lost the beauty 
We at first received from him. 



THE AUTUMN EVENING. 



Duskily, dreamily does the shortened day 
Droop its low shadows o'er shore and bay, 
Chill grows the air, till at crispy morn. 
Frost sparkles on stubble and crackling corn. 

Low in the air the wild water fowl flies, 

Distant the echo of day sounds dies ; 

Early the laborer his unfinished task leaves ; 

A soft mellow haze, the light and shade weaves. 

26 



The Autiitnn Evening . 

Bright glow the coals on the ash colored bricks, 
Wreaths the flickering flame mid the crackling sticks, 
The apples low sputter, the tea kettle sings, 
The cat round the fireside lovingly clings. 

Now draw near the hearthstone the family group, 
Let the children be merry, a bright nois}^ troop. 
Bring the basket of walnuts, the popcorn so white, 
And let all be happy this chill, autumn night. 



THE CHRISTIAN HOUSEHOLD. 



Sweet is the spot where christians dwell. 
And blend in faith, their wishes dear; 

Around whose altar voices swell 

With hymns of confidence and cheer. 

'Tis there a hallowed peace is given, 
A respite from corroding care, 

A foretaste of the joys of heaven, 

And blessings angels well might share. 

When day is clone and evening spreads 
Its shadows soft, through dewy air. 

And twilight o'er the world has shed 
Its influence calm for all to share 



27 



The Christian Household. 

Then round the fireside burning bright, 
The loved ones clustering, gather near. 

With prayer, and praise, and spirit light. 
And feel by faith their Maker there. 

And when the glimmering twilight fades, 
And deepens slowly into night. 

And stars peer through the silent shades. 
And cast on earth their gentle light. 

Then turns the soul to One above. 

And feels that through his grace alone 

Have come the blessings we so love. 

Of strength, of friends, of christian home. 



SABBATH EVENING. 



When soft the Sabbath evening hour 
In holy hush, the day shall close. 

And vesper hymns with soothing power 
Prepare our spirits for repose. 

Then sweet it is to join in song 
With spii'it voices far away. 

And let our praises chime among 
The praises, sung in endless day. 

28 



Sabbath Evening. 

Thou hallowed hour in christian home, 
For thee we speak, of thee we sing, 

Far from thee may we never roam. 
And tribute to thee may we bring. 

Oh, sweet communion of the blest. 
In home above, mid bliss of heaven. 

Of peace like thine, rest like thy rest, 
A faint resemblance here is given. 



THE BACK LOG. 



The big back log of the open fire. 
How pleasant to think about. 

Reminding of orchard and forest, 
With their leafy branches stout. 

A hickory log, may be it is 

That reminds us of nuts in the Fall, 
Of withering flowers and falling leaves, 

That so pensively we recall. 

The log of an oak, it may have been, 
That stood in the green wood long. 

And rattled its store of brown acorns. 
The leaves and squirrels among. 



29 



The Back Log. 

An apple tree log, perhaps it is 

That sputters, and sparkles, and sings, 

Reminding of fruit in the orchard. 
Which the mellow Autumn brings 

A pine tree log, it may be is there, 

And the murmur once heard in its boughs 

We think of, as sputters the pitch from its knots, 
And quickly to ashes it goes. 

It may be the birch with its whitened bark, 

Lies daintily on the warm bricks, 
And the gray moss clusters make brighter the flame 

That ascends from the crackling sticks. 

Or perhaps the maple has been rolled in, 

A place for such trophy meet, 
Since it reminds of its April blossoms, 

And nut brown sugar so sweet. 

Perhaps 'twas a hemlock, beneath whose boughs 

The partridge with stately tread. 
When springtime had flown and summer had come, 

Made snug his soft leafy bed. 

Thus, whether maple or hickory, apple or birch, 
Oak, hemlock or pine, that is there. 

Each, in its way, is a sweet souvenir 
Of some beauty or pleasure rare. 



30 



The Back Log. 

So as we journey the pathway of life, 

We may find where\-er we go, 
Some pleasure in that which we meet. 

That all other things do not know. 

Each object and thing in its own time and place, 
Has an excellence wholly its own, 

W^e may find if we will, and enjoy to our fill, 
If we take it and make it our own. 



IN MEMORIAM. 



(John P. Hudson, a member of the 7th Mass. Light Bat- 
tery, died in the U. S. service, at Sudbury, Mass., March 
7th, 1864.) 

Slowly and sadly, passed the years 

Of dismal war, of civil strife, 
And oft the nation sadly mourned 

The offerings rendered for its life. 

The sturdy patriots went forth 
From city, village, hamlet, farm ; 

Unsparing was the tribute paid 

To shield our native land from harm. 



31 



/;/ Mcinoriavi. 

And one there was who went away, 

A loved one fond, a patriot true. 
He gave a brother's sad farewell, 

And joined the band of boys in blue. 

Amid Virginia's swamp}' shades 

His camp fire gleamed, as months sped by, 
Through battles stern he passed unscathed 

But reached his home at length to die. 

Through weeks of watching, sad we stood 
Beside the soldier's couch of pain, 

And soon we knew he never more 
Would hear his battery boom again. 

The spring time came with pleasant showers, 
The hills once more, w^ere decked with green, 

Earth brought again its early flowers, 
But that dear form no more was seen. 

It rests upon a sunlit spot, 

Where soft the day's departing ray 

In tender radiance is cast 

Ere it in twilight fades away. 

But not alone, does nature cast 

Its loving, generous offerings down, 

A nation's gratitude goes out 
To those it fondly calls its own. 



32 



THE EVENING RAIN. 



I. 

Patter, patter, hear the rain 
Beating loudly on the pane, 
Telling- that a storm doth reign. 

II. 

Wildly does the wind without 
Shake the rustling tree-tops stout. 
Whirl the withered leaves about. 

III. 
Now the roaring, crackling fire 
Pile with fuel high and higher, 
To it draw the household nigher. 

IV. 

All within the home is warm, 
All within the heart is calm. 
Naught is near to do us harm. 

V. 

God of love, for th\- kind care 
May we grateful tribute bear, 
Long such mercies may we share. 



33 



DUCK HUNTING ON SUDBURY MEADOWS. 



When the broad meadows soft, reposing He 

Beneath the haze of Autumn's mellow sky, 

And the crisp frost of chill, October morn. 

Sparkles in crystals on the ripening corn, 

Then the wild water fowl begin to come 

To streams and ponds, from far off northern home. 

Along the river that through Sudbury town 

Ranges its course through meadows broad and brown, 

Thev sometimes tarry for awhile to feed. 

Ere on their southern journey they proceed. 

Bv day, in flocks, they wing their dusky flight 

High in the air, but at approach of night 

They seek some shallow pool or sheltered bay. 

Where thev may I'est secure till break of day. 

But not unnoticed do they always pass 

To snug retreat, amid the meadow grass. 

Traced is their course sometimes by sportsman's eye. 

Who knows tne reedy cove to which they flv, 

His trusty gun he takes from off" the hook. 

And starts at once for the secluded nook. 

His boat is launched from off" the shelving shore. 

And glides along with quiet, dipping oar. 

Close to the margin of the stream he clings, 

Where, mid the water brush, the black bird sings. 

Now the shy musk-rat starts with sudden bound 



34 



Duck Hunting on Sudbury Meadoivs . 

From off" the bank, with harsh and splashing sound, 

That makes the anxious sportsman start with fear, 

Lest upward start the ducks ere he draws near. 

He rows more gently, as he now detects 

Through the tall grass tops, slowly gliding specks, 

That tell him there the dusky squadi'on lie, 

All snugly sheltered in the pool hard by. 

And as he listens, lo ! the Qiiack, Qiiack, Quack, 

A noise so welcome to his ear, comes back. 

In river bend his little craft he steers. 

As place abreast the pool, he slowly nears. 

Then with one long and calculating peep 

Upon the flock, he takes his gun to creep 

A little closer, but ere this he do. 

His fowling piece he takes to prime anew. 

When all is ready, and the distance right 

To make the shot eflfective, then keen sight 

He takes along both barrels. Lo, a flash ! 

And fast the deadly missiles hurrying dash. 

At once the startled flock, with sudden fright. 

Rise from the pool to make a hasty flight. 

But stop ! behold again another flash ! 

And yet once more the deadly missiles dash 

Amid the flock, and lo ! the feathers fly. 

And round about, the dead and wounded lie. 

Qiiickly the sportsman springs to seize his prize. 

That flutters there before his eager eyes. 



35 



Duck Hunt i fig on Sudbury Meadows. 

The wounded first are seized, then all secured, 

He quickly goes to where his boat is moored. 

This he draws up beside the reedy bank. 

Where it is left concealed mid grasses rank. 

Then he goes back and waits for further flight 

Of birds, to come there ere he leaves it quite. 

Round him the twilight deepens into gray, 

And fast fcide out the beams of ebbing day. 

The wet dews, foggy, heavy, damp and chill. 

The night with moisture now begin to fill. 

But soon he starts ! a sound comes through the air. 

'Tis whistle of the wood duck's wing that's there. 

Qiiick to his eye his fowling piece, is raised, 

The trigger pulled, once more the piece has blazed. 

And still again, from ofl^the meadow land, 

The fluttering bird is seized with eager hand. 

Reloading, he again with listening ear, 

Is all intent, still other birds to hear. 

But hark ! that rushing, whistling, nearing sound 

Shows that a large sized flock flies near the ground. 

Low lies the hunter, nearer comes the flock. 

Upward he springs, and click, click goes the lock. 

Whang! Bang! the charges of both barrels go. 

As swoop the flock in circle small and low. 

The feathers fly, and scattered here and there 

A dusky form is falling through the air. 

While quick with sudden start and wheel and curve. 



3^' 



Duck Hunting on Sudhnrv Mcadozvs. 

The unhurt fow Is to other quarters move. 

With loaded hand, but step and heart that's Hght, 

The sportsman does not wait for further flight, 

But starts at once to launch his waiting boat, 

And soon again he finds himself afloat. 

Stoutly he plies the bending, splashing oar. 

That swiftly bears him towards the sought for shore. 

Around the curve of river bend he speeds. 

Now dark witli bush or overhanging reeds. 

Afar he sees the gleam of distant lamp 

Beyond the meadow's mist, so dark and damp. 

And on the still air now and then is heard 

The whistling wing or night call of a bird. 

Soon nearer comes the sounds he gladly hears. 

That show him that the causeway road he nears, 

A sound of ti'avel and of rattling team. 

Which rolls along the bridge that spans the stream. 

Soon he has nearly reached the wished for shore, 

And slacks his speed and lays aside his oar. 

Takes carefully his game and gun in either hand. 

Safe moors his boat and nimbly springs to land. 

With brisk walk, quickly to his home he goes 

To tell his story, as the game he shows. 



37 



THE BEST ROOM, 



When company came it was opened, 

At other times few went in, 
And the room was about as worthless 

As if it had never been. 

There were books that were ahnost useless. 
And a stove that was kept with care, 

There were lamps that were seldom lighted 
And a sofa and chairs were there, 

'Twas the best room, and so it continued 

A cold, unfrequented place. 
For the family would have a parlor 

To be used in exceptional case. 

In the heart of humanity is there 
A room that is best of them all, 

That's not opened except on occasions 
When company happens to call* 

Then throw open the door that is closed, 
The shutters unbar to the light. 

Make the hearth all aglow with kind actions 
And thus make its every room bright. 



38 



The Best Room. 

And fond parent, throw loosely the latch string, 

Let it dangle from every door. 
And let the best room of your household 

Be kept from the children no more. 



SABBATH VESPERS. 



Svyeet is the hour of hushed repose, 
When day's departing light is shed. 

And sabbath evening soft bestows 
A gentle stillness o'er our head. 

A hallowed silence fills the air. 

As incense breathed with perfume sweet, 
And at the hour and place of prayer, 

The worshipers their Maker meet. 

Anew the spirit turns to God, 
Anew on him, our hopes rely ; 

His house we feel is his abode. 

And deem his blessed presence nigh. 

The tumult, tod and din of life 
Are hushed amid the holy calm ; 

And passion, sorrow, pain and strife 
Within it find a soothing balm. 



39 



Sabbath Vespers. 

The wounded spirit finds relief, 
A rest to careworn souls is given ; 

The stricken one through clouds of grief, 
With hopeful gaze looks up to heaven. 

Oh! hour mid hlessed hours of time, 
Bright are thy moments, sweet thy joys, 

Reminder of that life sublime. 

Where neither sin nor grief annoj's. 

Still then, may this sweet vesper hour 
Of holy Sabbath's setting day. 

Be bright in promise, strong in power, 
As fades its glimmering light away. 



YOUTHFUL DAYS. 



We would for many years be young, 
If we as long could live among- 
The objects which in youth were dear, 
And which we find no longer here. 
But since all things must pass along, 
Which to the days of youth belong. 
We, too, would move on with the rest, 
Quite satisfied that this is best. 



40 



THE OLD CLOCK. 



On the sitting-room mantle, the old clock stands, 
With its pale, open face, and its dark, slender hands, 
And it measuredly tells with its tick loud and clear. 
The lesson that all should attentively hear. 

But what is the lesson that all ought to learn 

From each tick, as it comes from the pendulum's turn? 

'Tis this, that the time of our sojourn is short, 

That not the least fraction of time can be bought. 

When the grim reaper comes, to gather the sheaf 

From the field, that was sown in the life he made brief. 

'Tis that now is our own, and that we cannot borrow. 
To make up to-day's lack, from the time of tomorrow. 
That he who once loses an hour as it flies. 
Can never o'er take it tho' he chase till he dies ; 
For no moment comes back that has hasted away, 
And none ever loiter, nor long with us stay. 

Thus it is, says the clock, with its tick slow and low. 
As the jDcndulum swings now to and now fro. 
While it stands on the mantle and looks down upon all, 
And thus solemnly ticks with admonishing call. 



41 



HIDDEN GEMS. 

In days of childhood, I once heard 

A story that my young heart stirred ; 

It was that in the streams around, 

Were shells, in which bright pearls were found. 

The meadow brooks were quickly sought, 
And very soon from them was brought 
Of shells, a plentiful supply, 
In which the gems were said to lie. 

I searched them over with great care, 
To see if jewels could be there ; 
But disappointed, turned away. 
And left the pearl case to decay. 

A few days more, and as I passed 
The spot whereon the shells were cast, 
I looked, and lo ! a jewel fair, 
A tiny pearl, was really there ! 

The covering gross, had vanished quite, 

And left the little gem in sight. 

And in the place of old decay, 

The precious, much sought treasure lay. 

So 'tis with human gems perhaps. 
There may be something which enwraps 
Some noble traits, or generous deeds. 
That spirit craves or nature needs. 

42 



Hidden Gems. 

We cast the rude encasement by, 
And let it quite unnoticed lie, 
But come again another day, 
And bear the precious prize away. 



WILD GEESE 



Chill blows the wild, November wind. 

Clouds scud across the sky, 
And garnered fields and leafless woods 

Proclaim Thanksgiving nigh. 

Yet one sign more, and then the list 

Of omens is complete. 
And that the distant, cackling sound 

Of wild geese, high and fleet. 

But, hark! the distant, well known "honk" 

Comes home upon the blast. 
At length, the long line heaves in sight. 

The flock has come at last. 

Now bring along the festive day, 

With all its merry cheer. 
The gray, wild geese have come and gone, 

Thanksgiving day is near. 



43 



THE VILLAGE BURYING GROUND. 



(Mount Wadsworth, South Sudbury, Mass.) 

It lies upon a sunlit slope, 

Where lingering late, the sunset rays 
Aslant their golden radiance cast, 

And lovingly, day longest stays. 

Retired from noise of busy street, 
A calm and peaceful stillness rests 

About the spot, and naught disturbs 

The scene, with hallowed memories blest. 

There early does the earth present 
Its floral oflferings, in the spring. 

And lovingly the joyous birds. 
In soft notes, gentle carols sing. 

But sweeter far than birds or flowers, 

And that which makes the place so dear, 

Are recollections of the forms 

That in the dust, are slumbering there. 

And sweeter yet than all, the thought 

That they whose once loved forms here rest, 

Were parted from us, but to dwell 

In forms more perfect, realms more blest. 



44 



THE CALL OF THE BLUE JAY. 



The notes of the Blue Jay {Cyaimriis cristatiis) are sometimes peculiarly 
pensive in Autumn. Samuels, in his "Birds of New England," states that 
it has an "exceedingly sweet bell like note that posseses a mournful tone 
like that of a far off, hamlet bell tolling a funeral dirge." 



I. 
Toll, toll, tinkle, toll, toll, is the call of the Jay in the Fall, 
Far through the woodland is heard the sad sound, 
Back comes the echo with dismal rebound, 
Telling that Autumn is casting around 
Fallen and withered leaves. 

II. 

Toll, toll, tinkle, toll, toll, let the wild warble in sad cadence roll. 
And solemnly warn, and point out the way. 
That the forest leaves wither and pass to decay ; 
A lesson that teaches how life flits away, 
And has its w^ithered leaves. 

III. 

Toll, toll, tinkle, toll, toll, bird of wild mystery, speak to the soul, 
Through the dark, leafy dell, or o'er wood covered knoll, 
Still let thy strange utterance, spectre like stroll, 
And mid the deep forest in Autumn time roll. 
And mingle with rustle of leaves. 



45 



llie Call of the Blue Jay. 

IV. 

Toll, toll, tinkle, toll, toll, is a call that is heard by us all ; 
It comes by night or by day, is now here then away. 
And though a sound that is transient, and does not long stay, 
Yet listen, and hear it admonishing say. 
Withering are your leaves. 

V. 

Toll, toll, tinkle, toll, toll, oh, knell of existence, continue to roll, 
Teach thy truth to the heart, sing thy song to the soul, 
Above the roar of life's surge, let it sound like a dirge, 
If by the tinkle and toll, it may often-times urge. 
That life produce more than leaves. 



GOING TO BED. 



Patter, patter, up the stairway, light the little footsteps speed. 
Mother follows with a candle, where the darling footsteps lead. 
Quickly, through the snowy night-dress, does the little head 

pop out, 
"Now I'm ready for mv prayers," quick, the sleepy child 

shouts out. 
"Our Father" says the mother now, "go on, you know the rest," 
Soon he goes to, "now I lay me," then springs in his tiny nest. 
Mother gives a kiss, and watches by the darling of her love. 
Till he slumbers, then she leaves him in the care of one above. 

46 



SOMETIME. 



We may not know just now, 

Why hairs so silvery creep upon the brow, 

But we may know sometime. 

We maj' not know, as yet, 

Why eyes so oft, with sorrow's tears are wet. 

But we may know sometime. 

We may not now quite trace. 

The cause of wrinkled cheek, or careworn face, 

But we may know sometime. 

We may not know to-day. 

Why joys most cherished, pass so soon away, 

But we may know sometime. 

Yes, sometime, silence may throw off its spell. 
And silvery voices may break forth to tell 
Why notes of joy and notes of solemn knell. 
Within the selfsame heart, their cadence swell. 

Yes, this may sometime come, then cease to grieve, 
That unseen fingers are at work to weave 
A covering thick, no finite thought can cleave. 
But all thy mysteriess with Another leave. 



47 



HEAVEN 



'■'■And God shall wipe away all tears fro?>i 
their eyes^ 

Rkv. vi. 17. 

I. 

No toil nor tears, 

No doubts nor ofloomy fears, 

No drear distress 
Await the ransomed band 
In that eternal land 

Of love and holiness. 

II. 
No sobbing moan 
Of grief's deep undertone 

Disturb the heart 
In that celestial sphere. 
Where dwells with loved ones near. 

The immortal part. 

III. 
There all is light ; 
No gloom of gathering night 

Breaks on the day ; 
But beams from God's bright throne 
Shine and have ever shone 

With pure, unblemished ray. 



48 



Heaven. 

IV. 

No seas divide, 

No mountains rise to hide 

From friends or home, 
But all together there, 
Like joys, like comforts share. 

And no more roam. 

V. 

No sickness there. 

No pain for flesh to bear, 

No sad heart-ache. 
Of happiness and health 
In store a constant wealth 

Each may partake. 

VI. 

Sin is not there ; 
Temptation will not dare 

To vex the soul ; 
But pure and unmixed bliss 
Of perfect holiness 

Be ours, while ages roll. 

VII. 

To that abode, 
Blest Saviour, binng the soul, 
When life shall cease ; 

49 



Heaven. 

Oh, by thy grace may each 
That blessed country reach , 
Where all is peace. 



RESIGNATION 



When sorrows strange and conflicts wild 
Perplex the soul and press it sore, 

And oft misfortunes wave on wave. 
About us brake, around us roar. 

Then with a look of humble faith, 
May we our blessed Master see. 

And hear him say, "be not afraid, 
'Twas I of old who trod the sea." 

A calm in conflict he can bring. 
Tumultuous passion cause to cease, 

The angry billows quickly tame. 
The stormy surges soothe to peace. 

His voice above the din of time 

Speaks gently to our listening ear, 

A hand in succor, he extends 

To soothe each wound, to wipe each tear 



50 



Resignation. 

No contrite soul his mercy sought, 
And ere was empty sent away, 

No wanderer ere to him was brought. 
And was not by him bade to stay. 

Blest Saviour still to us reveal 

The one true source of sweet relief; 

Still show thyself the blessed fount 
Of consolation in our grief. 

Teach us the lesson, hard to learn, 
That never does thy love depart, 

Tho' all things else may fade and change, 
And sorrow wring the stricken heart. 



THE RIGHTEOUS DEAD. 



When in the j^lan of One above, 

The life with lengthened virtue blest 

Is full, and God has called in love 
The christian to a place of rest, 

Let not the living sadly grieve. 
Nor long lament the spirit fled. 

But fondly with the Master leave 

The loved one dear, the righteous dead. 



51 



The Righteous Dead. 

Far, far to other realms, the soul 

Has soared in ecstacy sublime, 
To dwell with Christ while ages roll. 

Beyond the taint of things of time. 

The toil worn hand reposes now, 

The life of weariness is o'er. 
The victor's crown is on his brow, 

His feet have touched the heavenly shore. 

No more of toiling, watching, pain, 
He now has laid life's armor by ; 

For him to pass away was gain. 
It was not death for him to die. 

Safe in the courts of God above. 

From earthly turmoil, care and strife. 

He shai'es within that home of love. 
The blessings of immortal life. 

In truth of him it may be said. 
The blessed memory of the just 

Will linger, tho' the form is laid 
To slumber in the silent dust. 



52 



NO, NOT FORGOTTON 



No, not forgotten are they, friends of our early days, 
Who walked with us in childhood along life's pleasant ways ; 
Tho' distant far, the echo of each loved, familiar voice. 
Yet through fond recollection they still the heart rejoice. 

II. 

No, not forgotten are they, but live in acts of love, 
Tho' long ago thev passed from earth and found a home above ; 
Tho' dead , they yet are speaking, and the deeds they left behind , 
Live with a silent life of love, that us to them still bind. 



No, not forgotton, some one perhaps may say of me. 

When I have passed from mortal sight, and ceased from earth 

to be. 
Some word that I have spoken, some deed that I have done. 
May make me still remembered, cause thought of me to come. 



Then mav each word be gentle, soft spoken, pleasant, kind, 
A word that I shall wish some friend may yet recall to mind ; 
INIay every act be loving, to friendship be found true. 
That thev receive a blessing, who may my acts review. 



53 



BEREAVEMENT. 



When in sorrow, mortals languish 
O'er the loss of those they love, 

And the heart that's wrung with anguish. 
Seeks its rest in God above. 

Tells He of a blessed country, 

Far away in realms of light. 
Where no death nor sorrows enter. 

Where there are no shades of night. 

Parting words are there unspoken, 
Fare\vell message is not known. 

Ties of friendship ne'er ai'e broken, 
Hearts are never left alone. 

Flowers whose petals there once open, 

Never close nor fade away ; 
Fruits which in that sunlight ripen. 

Never fall and ne'er decay. 

Then sad soul look unto Jesus, 
Thickly tho' the tear drops fall. 

Lovingly he waits to cheer us, 
Bear our burden, hear our call. 

Leav^e the loved ones he has taken. 
To the tender shepherd's care ; 

He, thy heart will not long chasten, 
E're his blessing- thou wilt share. 



54 



GROWING OLD 



We are growing- old? Oh, say it not ! 
For tho' it is the common lot, 
Of us it has been quite forgot. 

We are growing old ? do not thus say ; 
We feel in spirit blithe and gay, 
As when in childhood's distant day. 
We thought our youth would ever stay. 
And only wished our ^^ears awa\'. 

We are growing old ? it may be so ; 
The years they come, the years they go 
By process that we hardly know, 
As sea sand when the tide is low, 
A moment and it comes in sight. 
Another, it has vanished quite, 
So pass the days, and speed them by ; 
As weaver's shuttle, swift they fly. 
Nor deem we that old age draws nigh. 

Thus pass the fleeting years away, 
So quickly, youthful joys decay. 
Thus comes the evening of the day. 
So soon we sit in twilight gray. 



55 



THE STORMY DAY. 



The wind a lonesome traveler, 
Fi-om ocean brings a storm, 

From off the heaving billows 
Its moaning sound has come. 

Wild murmurs, as of surges. 
Rush over hills and glades. 

Sad sighing, as of dirges. 
In dismal echo fades. 

Bnt safely, snugly resting 
Beneath a shelter warm, 

We listen to the tempest, 

Without one thought of harm. 

A sound that soothes to soft repose. 
Comes to us nestling dry, 

A calm amidst the blast that blows, 
The rain's soft lullaby. 



56 



CHURNING 



Early and bright by the rosy light, 

The farmer's wife fills up the churn, 
Then calls in a boy both brisk and bright, 

The crank of the churn to turn. 

He starts with vigor, the duty to do. 

And turns with a will the mill, 
But soon his courage and patience too. 

Show that of churning, he has had his fill. 

"A few strokes more," the good woman says, 

"For to gather the butter's begun ;" 
He starts up anew, and puts in the few. 

But soon finds that the work is not done. 

Weary and worn, the tired boy turns 

The crank of the cream mill still, 
Till the late morning hour has exhausted his power, 

Ere the churn, with the butter he fill. 

At length, with his patience almost worn out, 

And with back-ache and fingers sore. 
The butter has come, and he starts for home 

With a few pennies to add to his store. 



57 



Churning'. 

He forgets, in his love for the treasure bright, 

How trying he just thought his lot, 
But in new found joy, the light hearted boy 

Thinks only of what he has got. 

In turning the crank of life's greater mill. 

How often the butter comes late, 
And peevish, complaining, we get out of sorts, 

And still turning we fret as we wait. 

But courage my brother, the splashing is near, 

Of butter-milk in the churn, 
And soon you can make the bright golden cake. 

If you continue with patience to turn. 

Tho' back ache, and side ache, these are trifles quite small, 

If to blessings they quickly give way. 
And there come for your pains, the much wished for gains 

That will eveiy past trouble allay. 



58 

3477-iaa 

Lot 69 



THE TWO PATHS. 



'"''I am the ivay^ and the truths and the UfeP 

John xiv. 6 

Oft in the stilly night come scenes in dreams, 

That strike the slumherer with a strange surprise, 

And waking, wonder we at vvhat has passed 
Before the vision of our spirit eyes. 

Thus was it when in dewy darkness wrapped. 
The earth was still, and few were near to hear, 

There came soft sounds whose gentle echoes fell 
Upon my listening, half enchanted ear. 

The scene in dream-land was a sun-lit slope. 
That peaceful lay with flowery carpet spread, 

Where merry children joined in pastime sweet 
Beneath a sky of summer blue o'er head. 

Awhile their mirthful, merry shout rang out. 
And naught diverted from their youthful play. 

As if to them there never was a thought 

That such fond scenes would ever pass away. 

But suddenly a spectacle was seen 

Beyond the piay ground, and all turned to view 
The scene before unnoticed, and which looked 

As something to them altogether new. 

59 



7 he Two Paths. 

The object was a calm and soft expanse 
Of water, as of broad and peaceful stream, 

Which noiseless, glided by the flowery banks, 
As bright the golden sunset on it gleamed. 

All for a moment stood surprised, and gazed 
Upon that silvery surface clear and bright ; 

Then sped the little feet as if in haste 

To reach the spot and share in its delight. 

But lo ! they found as sped they toward the shore, 
A pathway had been fashioned, plain, direct. 

And on each side the entrance pillars stood. 
From all mistake the traveller to protect. 

A voice was also heard, as from the skies. 

Bidding them pass this entrance straight and plain, 

Instructing them that there they each should pass. 
If that celestial stream they hoped to gain. 

Part of the companv at once went in. 

Their little footsteps pressed the better way ; 

But some passed round it, wishing not to go 
Where thus to enter would be to obey. 

But ere the shining object they drew near, 
Afar they look, and lo ! a glorious sight ! 

A something beautiful, majestic, grand. 

Is seen approaching o'er those waters bright. 



60 



The Two Paths. 

'Twas mystic boat, that silent made its way, 
Propelled bv neither wind nor tide nor oar ! 

And came from out the distant radiance dim. 
As if direct from Heaven's celestial shore. 

In ecstasy they now draw near, and wait 
The gliding boat, to welcome to the land ; 

All now alike the stream's bright bank have reached. 
And eager stand upon the glittering strand. 

All now expectant hoped to be received 
Within that boat, so beautiful and bright. 

And safe upon those silent waves be borne 
To place of peace, to scenes of fond delight. 

But sad to say, part only stepped within. 

And those the ones who passed the chosen way, 

Along the shore the others waiting stood, 
Nor for them did the boat a moment stay. 

For them it was to backward trace their steps. 
And walk the pathway made so clear and plain. 

That they too might be borne beyond the tide, 
When mystic skifF should touch the shore again. 

The dreamer woke, with heartful joy to find 
That still to youth there is an open door. 

Which by repentance may in life be found, 

And when once entered, feet will stray no more. 



6i 



7 he Two Paths. 

And sometimes now the dreamer offers still 
In supplication strong, the ardent prayer, 

That when on distant stream the boat is seen, 
A place for every loved one may be there. 

So may we each in unison rejoice 

That Christ an open way has made for all ; 

That each may entrance find to rest and peace. 
Who come obedient to his gracious call ; 

That sunlit sea and not a cold dark stream. 
Rolls wide its glittering weaves to spirit land ; 

That silvery may the boat and boatman be. 

That come to waft us to Heaven's waiting band. 

And when, at length, the far offshore we see, 
And glittering boat to it is draw'ing near. 

May there for each a place within it be. 
And words of welcome fall on joyful ear. 



62 




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